


All Through the Night

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Support, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Survivor Guilt, could be viewed as purely friendship but I like to think this is the start of something, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T'Challa watches over Bucky Barnes as he promised he would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> 'Midnight slumber close surround thee,  
> All through the night  
> Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,  
> Hill and dale in slumber sleeping  
> I my loved ones' watch am keeping,  
> All through the night'

  
  
T’Challa comes to stand in front of the chamber at least once a day. When the duties of his kingship rest heavily on his still grieving shoulders he finds it peaceful to come and immerse himself in the quiet of the room.  
  
“My father should have been king for many more years,” he tells the silent figure. “It is unfair that he has been taken from me when I still have so much I need to learn.”  
  
This admittance of selfishness is something he only allows himself here. Yes, his father’s death is not fair, but life is not fair and he was born to this role knowing that. He knows all of this. But knowing a thing does not make the acceptance of it any easier to swallow.  
  
He rests his head against the glass, a rare moment of weakness. The need to lean on someone as he once leaned on his father. And even though James Buchanan Barnes is still and distant behind the glass, there is something intimate about the surrender of the moment.  
  
“I loved my father.” T’Challa whispers. There are tears seeping gently down his cheeks as he remembers memories he doesn’t want to ever let himself forget. His father holding him by his hand as he learned to walk. Watching with pride as his father spoke to his people. T'Chaka was everything a king should be, and now he is gone.  
  
T’Challa understands why Bucky chose to go back under. To have that weight pressing down on him every day, all the people he killed while under the control of Hydra, all that guilt consuming him, it is an unbearable burden. It’s not his fault, but the guilt is there nonetheless. A lesser man would not care that he had been used for such evil, and that is how T'Challa knows Bucky is worth all the effort Steve Rogers put forth in protecting him. 

 

At times T’Challa wonders how peaceful Bucky’s sleep actually is. He looks so very still behind the glass, as though there's an impossible distance between him and the rest of the world.  
  
  
  
In very rare moments T’Challa finds himself almost angry with the sleeping man. For the few days when he had thought Bucky was his father’s killer, that clarity of possessing the knowledge had been everything. He had had one goal in mind and the end in sight. His justice would have been swift and righteous. And then he had seen firsthand what that desire, the disastrous seeking for revenge, had done to Zemo, and he had put that desire behind him. T'Challa understands Zemo more than he cares to admit, but he refuses to let that hollow-eyed hunger for violence become his fate.  
  
“It wasn’t easy.” He tells Bucky. “I wanted to rip your heart out with my claws.” He had come so very close.  
  
He imagines the lopsided grin Bucky would give him in return. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”  
  
T’Challa sees again the desperation in Bucky’s eyes as they fought on that roof, only wanting to escape. He sees the blank stare of the winter soldier as he fights his way out of the containment cell. The difference between the two is overwhelming and he should have known that the man was not himself.  
  
“It’s not your fault.” T’Challa says abruptly and leaves, before he gives in to the urge to sink to his knees and apologize to a man who can’t hear him anyway.  
  
  
  
In slumber, Bucky Barnes is beautiful.  
  
T’Challa does not admit this to anyone other than himself.

  
  
  
On the few occasions when he has to travel, T’Challa leaves Bucky’s protection in the hands of his head of security. She is the only one he trusts with the promise he made to Steve Rogers to guard his friend.

When he returns, he checks on the sleeping man. Bucky's condition is always the same, and he tells himself it’s foolish to feel disappointed, instead of relieved.

  
  
  
Sometimes T’Challa dreams of that chase under the freeway, the pursuit and the ride on the motorcycle ,pressing close to Bucky, trying to get him to fall, and the end where they had pushed Bucky to the pavement and cuffed him before taking him away.  
  
In his dreams that ending does not exist. It's only the two of them then, and they run and run until they’re both panting and he has to admit that Bucky is a worthy adversary to have for his target.  In the dream T'Challa catches his prey by the neck and turns his head, his teeth grazing the bared skin as he prepares to take his vengeance.  
  
And then Bucky twists hard in his grasp, staring directly back at him.  
  
T’Challa wakes, chest heaving with adrenaline. Naked, he rises from his bed and goes to stand by the window. What good is sleep when it brings no peace, only a new form of restlessness? It is a thought he has more and more often these days.  
  
He draws on a robe and walks through silent hallways to stand in front of the chamber once more.  
  
_You sleep, and you sleep, and when will you wake?_  
  
It’s a waste. Of energy and effort, and of this man. This man who has done terrible things,yes, but not of his own volition. He should not be punished like this, and it is punishment, to bury him away under the pretense of safety. T’Challa knows this.  
  
It is the guilt of the survivor, of the wounded, of one unable to forgive the actions of his own hands.  
  
It is still a waste.

  
  
  
He agreed to guard Bucky because it was the right thing to do and because Steve Rogers needed somewhere safe to keep his friend alive.  
  
He never agreed to keep him under forever.  
  
He honors the arrangement and keeps Bucky asleep for six months. Time to let the American government look elsewhere. Time to let Bucky know what he’s truly been missing. Time to give himself room to prepare.  
  
Then T’Challa wakes the sleeping man, and waits.  
  
  
  
Bucky blinks and looks at him, resentment simmering in his eyes. “Why’d you bring me out?”  
  
“I thought it prudent.” T’Challa tells him. “To see if there’s any change.”  
  
“Why would there be?” Bucky steps forward, his movements jerky as his body adjusts yet again. He doesn’t look at T’Challa, merely around the room, and then back at the chamber. “I’m functioning. Put me back.”  
  
“You’re not.” T’Challa says quietly.  
  
At that Bucky turns to stare at him. “What?”  
  
 “You’re not functioning. You’re suppressing yourself.”  
  
Bucky’s hands clench. “Because I’m a risk.” He says, like maybe T’Challa missed that part. “It’s too dangerous.”  
  
T’Challa shakes his head slightly. “You are afraid.”  
  
Bucky’s face tightens, and _there_ is the man T’Challa is hoping to reach. The fighter struggling away underneath the surface of the wounded animal, the soldier hidden beneath the blank slate of the trained assassin. The _soldier._ The _friend._ The _man._  
  
“What gives you the right…” Bucky starts and then breaks off with a rusted laugh. “No, you _are_ right. That’s the whole problem. I am afraid. I don’t want to hurt anyone again.” He looks down at his right hand. “I _can't_.”  
  
He starts to draw his arm around himself, and then stops, the movement awkward as he gazes at the shoulder of his missing arm.  
  
“And yet that is all any of us can do. Every day.”  
  
Bucky stares at him again. “Why’re you doing this after everything I’ve done, everything you thought I'd done? You of all people should understand why I can’t.”  
  
“Because…” T’Challa has prepared for this moment, and yet he finds himself almost faltering now. Why is it so hard to speak, now that he’s gazing into the man’s eyes and sees the torment there? “It i _s_ a waste.” He steps forward and places a hand on Bucky’s chest. “You have much to offer the world, and to keep hiding when you have a chance to help…that is not worthy of the man I know you to be.”  
  
“And who is that man?” Bucky counters. “What do you know anyway? A handful of stories that Steve’s recited to you, all rosy with nostalgia and friendship? That’s his version. You don’t know me.”  
  
He turns away, running his good hand through his hair. “That was another lifetime. Another man.”  
  
“Then be the man you are now. Give him a chance to make amends if you cannot forgive yourself.” That would take time. T’Challa knows this. But he has learned patience over the last six months.   
  
Bucky stiffens and turns around. “Just what are you suggesting?”  
  
“I am merely suggesting you understand that what you have done, is not you.” He touches Bucky’s shoulders lightly. “Your hand is not your enemy."  
  
Bucky trembles at his touch, his body reacting to the simple kindness of the gesture. T’Challa merely slides his left hand down to rest lightly on Bucky’s wrist, letting him know he could pull away if he needed to.  
  
They stand there in silence for a while. And then Bucky draws a long hoarse breath.  
  
“It’s not just what I’ve done.” Bucky says at last. “It’s what I could still do. You saw for yourself, what happened when they pull the strings. What if I let myself be out in the world…and I hurt someone?” He shudders painfully, just thinking about it.  
  
Instinctively, T’Challa draws him closer. He can feel Bucky’s heartbeat against his chest, the warmth of his body through his clothes as the chill slowly fades from his skin.  
  
“It will take time.”  He murmurs. “But I believe you can overcome what they have done to you.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?” Bucky doesn’t meet his gaze.  
  
“Because my father once told me…that to have faith in people, is to believe in a better future for all.” He had been very young when his father told him that, and he hadn’t understood it for a long time. Now as he gazes at Bucky’s face, weary and worried, he knows it to be true.  
  
“I’m not sure I know how anymore...”

The lost look in his eyes makes T’Challa make a soothing noise in his throat. “It will return to you.” His thumb stokes lightly down Bucky’s wrist, calming him.  
  
Bucky huffs a laugh that dies away quickly. “For someone who was so ready to sink his claws into me, you sound awfully patient these days.”  
  
T’Challa feels himself smile, breaking the quiet gravity of his face. “I can be patient, when there is purpose.” He does not add that he finds it easy to be patient when he looks at Bucky. There will be time enough to mention that.  
  
For now, he merely rests his forehead against Bucky’s for a moment before drawing back. “It will not be easy.”  
  
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Bucky mutters, but there’s a flicker of a smile in his eyes. "Okay...I'll try."   
  
“Good.” T’Challa nods. “Then let us leave this place, and I will take you to my home where we will eat together, and you may ask questions if you wish to know what’s been happening in the world while you slept.”  
  
“I can imagine,” Bucky gestures with his good arm. “But lead the way.”  
  
“One thing first.” T’Challa draws off his robe and slips it over Bucky’s shoulders, covering the empty socket of his missing arm. “Tomorrow we will discuss a replacement, if that is satisfactory.”  
  
Bucky’s right hand comes up to close over his wrist at the fold of the robe. He gazes at T’Challa for a painfully long moment. At last he nods. “Works for me.”  
  
“Then come, my friend.” T’Challa says, ready to welcome Bucky to his home and his kingdom.  
  
He is grateful that tonight at least he remembered to wear pajamas.  
  
  
  
_During the previous six months_  
  
There is a voice Bucky knows now. For once it’s not Steve’s voice inside his head, or one of the many ones he’s trying to forget. It belongs to another man, a man whose words linger in his brain, whispering across the empty space between the memories, filling the cracks and letting Bucky know that he is not alone. 


End file.
